Alex is screwed. She’s due at the fae Court of Enchantment in less than twenty-four hours, but she’s not even close to being ready. Her job is hanging by a fraying thread. There’s a new vampire master in town. And several of her werewolf friends have been captured by the Paranatural Task Force.

She’s their best chance for release before the full moon reveals their secret, but the Lord of Enchantment is not someone you keep waiting—even when he happens to be your grandfather. All Alex can do is call in a favor, hope to hell she can survive the plots of the fae court, and hightail it home to salvage her life.

One mistake at court could change everything . . . .

“Original and riveting.”—Book Likes Blog on A Drop of Magic, Book One of The Magicsmith series

“It’s nothing. I’ll see you at dinner
tonight.” I disconnected before he

could press me for more information. If
he wasn’t O’Connell’s prisoner I

didn’t have time to waste chatting with
him, and the last thing he needed

while dealing with a new, powerful
vampire was to be distracted.

I scanned through my remaining
contacts. Some names were missing,

like Chase and Jynx, the shifter
siblings crashing at my house, and

Hortense, the tutor sent by my
grandfather to fill the gaps in Kai’s lessons.

They were all full fae, and I had no
way to contact them except face-toface,

but Chase had been a snoring ball of
gray fur at the end of my bed

when I left for work, and Jynx had been
watching television. I bit my lip. I

couldn’t imagine Hortense being
careless enough to get caught by the likes

of O’Connell.

That left the wolves. I knew several
members of the local werewolf

pack, thanks to my recent exploits, but
I didn’t have all their numbers. One

number I did have was Marc’s. As
the leader of the pack, he was sure to

know if any of his members had been
picked up by the PTF.

The line rang . . . and rang. No
answer.

I took a deep breath. No reason to
panic yet. Maybe he was just in the

shower. Scrolling further down the
list, I clicked the entry for Oz, a pack

member I’d actually known before I
discovered, rather violently, that

werewolves were real.

The line rang. I bit my lower lip, my
heart rate starting to climb. No

answer there either.

I didn’t have a direct line to Sarah
Nazari, a werewolf detective with

the Boulder police department. And
Sophie—my human friend turned

werewolf the night we both learned they
were more than just stories—had

her phone privileges revoked after
sneaking out to go clubbing and nearly

shifting in a building packed tight
with tasty mortals.

I thumped my cell phone against my
forehead. A couple missed calls

was hardly conclusive, but my gut told
me O’Connell had gotten his hands

on some or all of the werewolves. Waves
of dread rolled through me. I had

to know for sure.

Lifting the phone one more time, I
called Maggie. A month ago,

talking to Maggie would have been the
most natural thing in the world.

Now, the prospect made my insides
writhe. Maggie was one of my few

remaining human friends, and the only
one I’d managed to keep

completely out of the craziness my life
had become. But my secrets had

driven a wedge between us, and I wasn’t
sure how to bridge that gap.

Before I’d walked into the near-certain
death of Merak’s nest, I’d

written a letter to Maggie explaining
everything and apologizing for

keeping her in the dark, just in case.
I hadn’t died. I also hadn’t given her

the letter yet. I’d stuffed it in my
nightstand drawer, too afraid to face the

fallout of laying my secrets bare,
especially as the gulf between us grew

larger.

“Alex?” Maggie’s voice was sharp.
“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just—”

“Are you at the store?”

I looked at the employee door, then at
the exit. “Yeah, but I need to

leave.”

“Bloody hell, Alex. Your shift just
started, and this is the last shift

you’ve got before the two
weeks you
requested off during the
busiest

shopping season of the year.” Her voice rose as
she spoke, her London

accent becoming more pronounced.

“I know, but something’s come up.”

A loud sigh came through the phone.
“Something always comes up

with you these days, and you’ve told me
bugger all about it.”

“I know. I—”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long do I need to cover? The
morning? The whole day?

Forever?”

I shuffled my feet and looked up at the
speckled ceiling tiles. “Better

not count on me today.”

“I can’t ever count on you anymore.”

Dead air filled the line as I struggled
to find something to say,

something to make things right between
us, but she was right.

“I can’t take this anymore, Alex. Not
with . . .” A sharp exhale and a

shaky breath. “You’re sacked.”

The words dropped like a bomb in my
head, splintering my thoughts

into a million shards of jagged
shrapnel. I opened my mouth to argue, to

come clean about my heritage, to
explain why I’d missed all those shifts,

but all that came out was a ringing
silence.

“I’m sorry, Alex.”

The line went dead.

Pressure built behind my eyes.

I’d thought about quitting the
bookstore dozens of times—usually

when I was fighting to get out of my
nice warm bed before the sun came

up—but I’d never really considered it. Magpie
Books had been Maggie’s

dream, but we’d built it together. I’d
been there from the start, and I’d

always assumed I’d be there till the
end. Magpie was supposed to be a

place I would always belong.

Dropping the phone in my purse, I
blinked until my tears were no

longer in danger of falling. Somehow, I
had to repair my friendship with

Maggie. I couldn’t afford to burn any
more bridges. But first, I needed to

find out what, if anything, had
happened to the werewolves.

Courting Darkness

The Magicsmith Book 2

“A great story of murder, mystery . . . and well-developed characters.”—Margie Hager, Netgalley Reviewer on A Drop of Magic

“A Drop of Magic is a damned fun and original read, with sass, action, hot men, and a whole lot of magic.” —Diana Pharaoh Francis, author of the Diamond City Magic, Magicfall, and Horngate Witches series

Deeper into the shadows. . .

The paranatural community isn’t done with Alex. She’s been summoned to the fae court, and she’s got her hands full trying to prepare. But her date with the fae will have to wait. There’s been a death at the gallery, and the man she hoped would be a part of her future is the prime suspect.

Bitter enemies pull her into the middle of a paranatural war for territory that has her dodging police, swords, teeth, and claws—not to mention the truth. The deeper she digs, the more secrets she uncovers, and the less certain she is about the innocence of the one man she wanted to trust.

She thought she was done with murder and monsters, but she’ll have to enter the belly of the beast if she hopes to save her friend.

MY BREATH
PUFFED out in angry little clouds as I shivered under the star-streaked sky
that stretched above my patch of frozen mountain. Jaw clenched, I shoved a key
into the lock on my front door with enough force to jerk the purse off my
shoulder. It slid down, snagging at my elbow, and the shift in weight jostled
the dome-covered cake balanced in my other hand.

I couldn’t
believe James had stood me up again. After all his promises. Twenty minutes
standing outside his house. Then a quick call about unavoidable business at the
gallery. Sure he’d apologized, given me his

usual line
about making it up to me “another time.” But another time never seemed to come
for James and me.

I twisted the
keys. Those not in the lock dug into my palm.

Another
time. If he said those words again, I was
going to run him over with my Jeep.

The door stuck,
swollen by moisture. I growled and pushed harder, hissing when my weight
settled onto the freshly re-knit muscles of my right leg. I gave the door
another shove, and it finally gave way, slamming

into the
adjoining wall with a bang, my keys still dangling from the lock.

I froze in the
doorway. My living room was occupied.

I’d been
looking forward to curling up with my cake and my anger. Habits formed through years
of solitude were hard to break, and I still wasn’t used to having roommates.
Company was going to put a serious crimp in my plans.

Kai and Chase
were sitting across from each other on my faded furniture, cards and poker
chips on the coffee table between them. Neither seemed surprised by my dramatic
entrance.

“You’re home
early.” Kai glanced in my direction, and his eyes were swirling galaxies of
color rather than the deep brown of his glamour—the human disguise he wore less
and less these days. He was a fae knight from the Realm of Enchantment who’d
been living in my guest room for about a month, most of which was spent saving
the world from a murderer with a magic, world-eating box. He cradled a hand of
cards to his chest so his opponent couldn’t cheat. “Didn’t think we’d see you
till much later.”

“Or tomorrow,”
added Chase without looking up.

I’d let Chase
into my home when I thought he was just a cat, before I knew he was actually a
fae who could change form at will. I let him stay because he saved my life. Of
course, when I made that deal, the understanding was that he’d remain the gray
tabby I’d taken in last summer, but he’d been spending more time with fingers
than fur lately.

“Call.” He
dumped a handful of colorful plastic chips onto the pile already on the table.

“Yeah well . .
.” I pulled my key out of the door and kicked it closed behind me. “Plans
change.”

Chase glanced
up and raised a silver eyebrow over one luminous green eye. “You’ve replaced
James with a cake?”

The plastic
dome I hugged gave a clear view of the decadent chocolate cake I’d picked up on
my way home.

“This is my
consolation prize.” I lifted my chin and carried the calorie-laden confection
to the high counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Don’t
judge me.”

I’d been
thinking the same thing all the long drive home. I’d done my best with James.
I’d really put myself out there. But after all the excuses, and conflicting
schedules, and missed dates. . . . I’d been down this road enough to know where
it ended. I’d had my fill of waiting for men who never showed up. Still, I
wasn’t about to give Kai the satisfaction of an “I told you so.”

I crossed my
arms and dropped onto the couch next to Kai. “That little tip just lost you a
piece of cake.”

His smile went
slack. Kai had the biggest sweet tooth I’d ever seen.

“You’ll get fat
if you eat it all on your own.”

I gestured to
Chase, who was stacking his winnings into neat little piles. “Chase can help
me.”

“Hey! Don’t get
pissy at me just because your old stiff couldn’t follow through.”

“James is not an
old stiff,” I said. “He’s refined. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

He snorted.
“Whatever you say.”

I turned to
Kai. “Back me up here.”

“Will it earn
me some cake?”

“Ha,” roared
Chase. “Spineless elf.”

“Mangy stray,”
Kai shot back.

Chase took a
bow and began to melt, shrinking and shifting until a gray tabby sat on the
faded beige cushion of Chase’s chair.

Sighing, I
lifted a blue poker chip and rolled it over my knuckles.

“What were you
betting?”

Kai tipped his
head to one side and frowned. “Little bits of colored plastic, obviously.”

I rolled my
eyes and tossed the chip back on the pile. “The chips are usually backed by
money, but I guess you and Chase aren’t exactly rolling in human cash.”

“Actually, I
received my first paycheck last week.”

When Kai made
the decision to stick around the mortal realm to instruct me in all things fae,
he also started working part-time at a convenience store owned by a registered
halfer who owed him a favor.

The job was
dull, but necessary to get a work visa from the PTF—the Paranatural Task Force
that policed interactions between humans and fae—which was the only way a
full-blooded fae could legally stay in the

human realm.

“Congratulations.”

“I’ve been
thinking about what to do with it, though I hadn’t considered rolling in it. I
believe humans have a custom of paying a portion of the expense of shared
living space, so I thought I might do that.”

“Sure, but it’s
not like this is a permanent arrangement. We haven’t even talked about what
happens after my trip to court.” My breath hitched, as it often did when anyone
mentioned my summons to the fae

Court of
Enchantment. Kai had convinced the powers-that-be— namely my long-lost
great-grandfather—that I wasn’t ready, hence his new job as my personal tutor.
But we had no idea how long the arrangement

would last.
Maybe I’d never be ready for life among the fae.

He frowned. “I
still feel I should contribute.”

“How about
groceries? Between you and Chase, the fridge is almost always empty.”

“Deal.” He
thrust out his hand, and I shook it, trying not to laugh at his triumphant
expression.

Chase, who’d
been watching our exchange, perked up at the word “groceries.” Once the deal
was struck, he sprang into my lap and nuzzled his head against my chin.

Without
thinking, I stroked his back and scratched around his ears.

“You know
that’s still Chase, right?” Kai watched us with a mixture of amusement and
frustration. “You shouldn’t treat him differently just because he looks like a
cat.”

I shrugged. “I
can’t help it.”

Kai made a
disgusted noise and scooped the cat out of my lap, dropping him unceremoniously
to the floor. Chase gave an indignant hiss and sauntered off.

“If you can’t
even deal with that riffraff, how do you expect to get by at court?”

I nibbled a
piece of loose cuticle and hunched deeper into the sagging couch cushion,
wishing for the millionth time that life could go back to the way it was before
Kai showed up at my door. Back when I

thought I was
human.

Most
halfers—fae-human hybrids—returned to their regular lives after registering
with the PTF, but that wasn’t an option for me. Unlike the vast majority of fae
offspring, I wasn’t allergic to metal. Hell, it was

how I made my
living. And according to Kai, there was only one bloodline capable of producing
fae that could handle iron. That was why Kai was still there, why I had to take
faerie protocol lessons, and why

Uncle Sol, the
man who’d raised me since a car crash killed my mom, was doing his best to keep
my name off the PTF registry.

I rubbed the
intricate tattoo that wound its way up my right arm.

Learning I was
the by-blow of a fae-human love affair untold generations ago had been a hard
pill to swallow. Finding out I was royal had been a kick in the head.

“I still don’t
see why I have to go. Your mission was a success, the killer was brought to
justice, and gramps got back his magic death-box.

Why can’t we
just leave it at that and all go our merry ways?”

Kai pinched the
bridge of his nose. “We’ve gone over this. There is no going back. The gift my
lord gave you to boost your powers also marked you as his blood-kin. There’s no
hiding who you are now.”

“I could hide
just fine if I stayed here,” I argued. “But parading around a fae court with
the Lord of Enchantment is going to make me pretty damn conspicuous.”

There was a
time I would have been happy to have a long-lost relative come and claim me, as
any orphan would, but I held no delusion that he’d found me out of kinship or
caring. I was one of only three

living
imbuers—a rare gift. No fae would pass up his claim to an imbuer, regardless of
how tenuous the connection or how weak the blood of the halfer.

Kai rolled his
eyes—an expression I was pretty sure he’d picked up from me. “You’re a member
of the court now, like it or not. If you don’t go to them they will eventually
come to you, and I guarantee you would not enjoy that experience. In either
case, learning our customs and traditions is the best way to protect yourself.
Besides, there’s no one in this world or any other who can instruct you in the
art of imbuing as well as my lord.”

I crossed my
arms, frowning. “My abilities are fine the way they are.”

Truth be told,
there was a lot I still had to learn about my powers, and magic in general, but
that was the one subject Kai had steadfastly refused to cover. Mostly our
sessions consisted of mind-numbing etiquette

and history
lessons, although he’d recently begun teaching me how to fight with a sword.

“It’s important
for you to understand how the fae world works before you take your place in it.
To that end . . .” He picked up an old leather-bound book from a
pile on the floor and held it out. “A little light

reading before
bed.”

“Haven’t I
suffered enough tonight?”

“It’s the
chronicle of your family tree. I thought you might be interested to see where
you came from.”

“I know where I
come from,” I snapped, but I took the proffered tome just the same.

“You know less
about yourself than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“What’s that
supposed to mean?”

“Never mind.”
He waved his hand as if wiping the words away.

“I’m turning
in. I have an early shift at the store tomorrow.”

“How’s that
going, by the way?”

He shrugged. “I
play tricks on the customers to entertain myself when it’s slow.”

My jaw dropped.
“If someone reports you, your visa will be revoked.

You’ll be
deported back to the reservation.”

“Don’t worry.”
He grinned. “Humans haven’t got a clue.”

I scowled.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

A Drop of Magic

The Magicsmith Book 1

The war isn’t over . . .

With the world clinging to a fragile peace forced on the Fae by humanity after the Faerie Wars, metalsmith Alex Blackwood is plunged into the world of the half-fae who traffick in illegal magical artifacts. Her best friend’s murder and his cryptic last message place her in the crosshairs of a scheme to reignite the decade-old war between humans and fae.

Worse, violent attacks against her and the arrival of a fae knight on a mission force Alex to face a devastating revelation of who and what she is. To catch a killer, retrieve a dangerous artifact, and stop a war, Alex will have to accept that she’s an unregistered fae “halfer” with a unique magical talent—a talent that would change everything she believes about her past, her art, and her future.

Her world is crumbling around her, and Alex will have to decide who to trust if she and the world are going to survive.

“A Drop of Magic is a damned fun and original read, with sass, action, hot men, and a whole lot of magic.” —Diana Pharaoh Francis, author of the Diamond City Magic, Magicfall, and Horngate Witches series

METAL DUST CLUNG to the sweat on my arms, glittering like
shining scales. Even with the studio door propped open behind me, the
uncommonly warm October air did little to temper the heat of the forge. A
shower of sparks erupted as I plunged the carbon steel rod back into the
annealing embers and dragged an arm across my forehead, taking care to avoid
the bulky, blackened welding glove. I’d probably still end up with sooty
streaks decorating my otherwise pale face. I always did.

Lost in the beat of my old MP3 player, I started belting out
the lyrics of Robert DeLong’s Don’t Wait Up as I prepared the next rod. Then a
touch settled—light and tentative—on my arm, and the bottom fell out of my
stomach.

Tongs clutched in one hand, hammer in the other, I spun.

“Whoa, whoa.” His lips formed the words, though I couldn’t
hear them over the music blaring through my headphones.

An inch shorter than I was, wearing jeans and a polo shirt, I
had no reason to think the man was anything but human. But then, who could tell
these days? He took a step back, hands raised, either to show he meant no harm
or to ward off the blow he thought was coming.

Behind him, near the open door, stood a second man. He wore a
rumpled brown suit that matched his hair and eyes. Average height, average
build, average looks. Nothing remarkable about him.

Moving to put the anvil between us, I set the hammer down and
pulled off my headphones, but kept a white-knuckled grip on the tongs. The
higher-than-average number of violent crimes this summer had me on edge—along
with everyone else—though none of the violence had come so far as my neck of
the woods. It seemed unlikely a murderer would get my attention before
attacking, but my heart raced a mile a minute as I faced the strangers. “Who
are you?”

The man nearest me lowered his arms. “We announced ourselves,
but it seems you didn’t hear.”

I scowled at his attempt to put the blame back on me. This
was my studio, and they were uninvited guests.

“My apologies.” This came from Mr. Unremarkable. The monotone
of his voice matched his appearance, revealing nothing. “You may call me Smith.
My associate is Neil. Am I addressing Alyssandra Blackwood?”

A muscle under my right eye twitched. Most people only knew
me as Alex. Alyssandra hadn’t existed anywhere but legal documents since I was
twelve and traded the name in for something stronger, more

practical.

“We’ve come to purchase an item from you, an engraved silver
box.”

My shoulders dropped as the tension in them eased a little.
Customers didn’t often stop by the studio unannounced, but it wasn’t unheard
of. People sometimes got my address from the Souled Art Gallery

in Boulder where I showed my work, or from previous
customers, and came to commission pieces. Most were courteous enough to call
ahead.

“I’m booked on orders right now. I could maybe get to it next
month.”

“You misunderstand. We are looking for an object already in
your possession.”

“Oh. Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have an item like
that in stock.”

“We know the box came your way. If you hand it over, we can
make it worth your while.” Neil had the slick, sleazy tone of a used car
salesman. Curious though I was about this box, and why they thought I had it,
I’d had enough of the conversation. Even if they weren’t killers, they gave me
the creeps. I shook my head. “You were misinformed.”

“Ms. Blackwood,” Smith said. “Be reasonable. We’re willing to
pay handsomely, and considering the other parties involved, you’re not likely
to get a better offer. Surely it isn’t worth the risk?”

My breath caught as the thinly veiled threat hit me like a
punch in the gut.

“You need to leave, now.” My voice trembled slightly. The
studio only had one door, and they were between it and me. I was trapped.
Shifting my stance, I tightened my grip on the tongs, willing them not to
shake.

Smith raised his hands in a placating manner. “I think we’ve
gotten off on the wrong foot. You might not even realize you have the item we
seek. It would look quite common, like a jewelry box.”

“I told you, I haven’t got anything like that. Now get out of
here before I call the cops.” It was a bluff, of course, I’d left my cell phone
in the house. Even if I could call, the police would never arrive in time to
help. That was the downside of living so far from town. I was on my own.

“Enough of this.” Neil stepped around the anvil and reached
for my arm.

Time slowed.

I didn’t like to fight, I avoided confrontations when I
could, but if he thought I was going to roll over, he was wrong. With a
guttural howl, I twisted my wrist out of Neil’s grip and swung the tongs into
his face. His skin split apart like newspaper peeling back from a fire,
scorched black and crinkled around the edges. An unearthly shriek filled the
studio, and I stumbled back, shocked at the damage I’d done.

Neil shimmered and seemed to melt. His skin became
transparent, and a network of blue veins crawled beneath its surface. His nose
spread and sank into his face, leaving two flared slits. Below that, the mouth
emitting that horrible sound elongated until the gaping, needle-lined hole grew
so large I could have put my whole fist in without scraping my knuckles. When
he reached up to cover his face, his fingers had nearly doubled in length, the
webbing between them connecting all the way to the tips. His fingernails
stretched and thickened to claws. The creature before me was straight out of a
horror movie, and I added my own scream to the cacophony.

Wielding my tongs like a baseball bat, I backed away from the
writhing shape which had been the man Neil seconds before. Even at the best of
times, my stomach cramped when someone mentioned the

fae. Seeing one in the flesh was like having a bucket of ice
water dumped on my head. I shivered from head to toe, and fought the urge to
throw up.

Smith crossed the space between himself and Neil in two steps
and pulled Neil’s arms down to expose the hideous gash burned across his cheek.
My stomach lurched at what I’d done. White glinted where bone showed beneath
charred flesh. The eye above had swelled shut and was rapidly turning a sickly
greenish color. Smith placed one palm against Neil’s forehead, and the horrible
wail abruptly cut off as Neil sagged in Smith’s arms.

“It seems we were mistaken.” Smith spoke as he had before,
without inflection or emotion. Nothing to show surprise or concern that he was
holding an unconscious, injured faerie in his arms. “Good day, Ms. Blackwood.”

My mind went blank as I fumbled for words.

Smith took my stupefied silence in stride. Hefting Neil
without visible effort, he gave a small parting nod and carried his companion
out of the studio.

I remained where I was until the sound of car doors closing
and the crunch of gravel told me I was alone. Then, still clutching my tongs, I
inched to the door and took a deep breath of the outside air. The

driveway was empty, no cars in sight. No faerie goons either.
My knees gave out under the weight of the panic I’d been keeping in check, and
I sank to the ground, tongs still clutched in my shaking hands. The tea I’d had
for breakfast felt like acid in my stomach, threatening to come back up.

A gray tabby with yellow-green eyes peeked around the corner
of the shed with a questioning, “Meow?” Cat had appeared on my doorstep a few
months back, begging for scraps, and I’d made the mistake of giving him some.
He’d come around every day since. Despite the fact he’d already stuck around
longer than most of the guys in my life, I’d steadfastly refused to name him.

“Fat lot of good you were.”

Lifting his nose, Cat swished his tail and stalked away.

It was silly to take my anxiety out on Cat, but it was easier
than dealing with the panic and adrenaline threatening to overwhelm me.
Anything to distract from the flesh seared to the tongs in my shaking

hands.

I couldn’t imagine forging more, so with a wary eye on the
door I dampened the coals and stored my tools, each in its marked place on my
pegboard. The gooey tongs went on a shelf, I’d throw them in an acid bath
later.

Born and raised in Colorado, L. R. BRADEN makes her home in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her wonderful husband, precocious daughter, and psychotic cat. With degrees in both English literature and metalsmithing, she splits her time between writing and art.

People are too different. A book that strikes a chord with
one person and really makes them think might seem trite and uninspired to
another. Don’t believe me? Just look at all the reviews of your favorite book.
I guarantee someone hated it.

How long have you been
writing?

I scribbled out stories as a child and teenager, but I never
finished any of them. It wasn’t until 2012 that I actually sat down with the
intention of writing a complete novel. Since then I’ve taken classes, read
books, and submitted to contests to get better. To date, I’ve written six
novels and seven short stories, and I have outlines for many many more that are
just waiting for me to get around to them.

Do the characters all
come to you at the same time or do some of them come to you as you write?

I start with a set of essential characters, but new
characters are popping up all the time. Sometimes they come completely out of
the blue, filling some hole I hadn’t even noticed in my story, and sometimes I
create a small character for a single roll, but that character morphs into
someone who gets fleshed out and integrated into the larger story.

Do you see writing as
a career?

More and more as time goes on. When I first started writing
it was just a hobby, and in some regards a test to see if I could do it. I
never wrote with the intention of becoming rich and famous (not that I’d
complain if that happened). Now that I’ve got contracts, deadlines, and people
asking me, “When will the next book be out?” writing feels much more like a
job. It’s a job I love, which is awesome, but I have to approach it with a
different attitude than I did in the beginning. I can’t just write “when I feel
like it.”

Do you read yourself,
and if so what is your favorite genre?

Absolutely! I’ve had to slow down now that so much of my time
is taken up with reading and revising my own work, but I still manage a few
books a month. I mostly read fantasy in all its sub-genres. I also like science
fiction and young adult, and I read lots and lots of children’s books with my
daughter. I’ll read any book so long as the story or topic holds my interest.

Do you prefer to write
in silence or with noise? Why?

Silence, definitely. I’ve tried writing with music, but I
always end up singing along to the lyrics instead of focusing on my story. And
trying to write while people are talking is just impossible.

Do you write one book
at a time or do you have several going at a time?

I’ve usually got one book in revision and editing at the same
time I’m writing the early drafts of another. I also work on the pre-writing
for future stories almost constantly, so even when I’m writing one story I’ll
be making notes for several others. I try never to work on more than one first
draft at a time.

Pen or typewriter or
computer?

I work on my laptop. I like the ease of moving whole chunks
of my story around, and having versioned drafts that I can pull up and look at
if I change my mind about major changes. Sometimes I also jot notes or phrases
on my phone when they come to me, which I can then easily paste into my story
files.

Advice you would give
new authors?

Becoming an author is not a sprint, it’s a marathon. Pace
yourself and remember to take breaks when you need them, otherwise you won’t
reach the finish line.

Describe your writing
style.

I generally have an idea of what scene or scenes I hope to
write when I sit down at my computer. Then I just start typing and see where I
end up. Sometimes everything goes smoothly and I hammer out scene after scene
and I love them all. Sometimes I agonize over a single scene for hours and
never seem to make any progress. Either way, I let the story shift and change
as I write because sometimes things don’t come together until I’m mucking about
in the details.

What makes a good
story?

There are hundreds of books and courses trying to answer this
question, but in a nutshell I’d say: Compelling and believable characters faced
with interesting challenges, both inside and out.

What are you currently
reading?

I just got “Queen of Nothing” by Holly Black for Christmas
and I’m very excited to read it.

What is your writing
process? For instance do you do an outline first? Do you do the chapters first?

Once I come up with the idea for a story,
I spend some time rolling it around in my head. If it sticks around, I jot down
notes of important factors, characters, plot events, etc. Since I’m usually in
the middle of another project, those notes often sit around for a long time
before I can get back to them. (For example: I’ve got lots of notes on a story
I want to write that I thought up about three years ago.)

When I’m ready to start working on
the project, I make an outline of where I think the story will go and major
landmarks along the way. Sometimes I mark where I think chapter or section
breaks will be, but those often move around after I’ve finished the first
draft. Then I flesh out the main characters and figure out how they fit
together and interact. I usually make files for each including backstory,
physical appearance, personality traits, etc.

By the time I actually start
writing, I’ve got many pages of notes. Then I sit down and write the first
draft, beginning to end. I can’t say I never
go back and edit a previous section, but I try not to. If I find something that
needs to be changed, I make a note about it and move on.

After the first draft is done, I go
back and address any major overhauls I made note of. Then I set it aside for a
bit so I can come at it again with fresh eyes (assuming I don’t have a deadline
looming over me). After that it’s all about revision and fine-tuning.

What is your writing
Kryptonite?

Family time. I will pretty much always choose doing something
with my family over sitting alone in my office, so I have to exercise a great
deal of self-control when my husband or daughter asks me to join them.

Do you try more to be
original or to deliver to readers what they want?

I try my best to deliver a story readers will enjoy. If
people like a certain kind of story, they will read others like it, and every
story will have original aspects just because every writer is different.

If you could tell your
younger writing self anything, what would it be?

“Don’t obsess.” But I wouldn’t listen.

How long on average
does it take you to write a book?

To actually “write” the book? About three months. But then I
have to revise the book. And edit the book. And then do it all over again. I
will say that from start to finish, my work time is getting shorter because I’m
making fewer mistakes in the early drafts. I’d say my current turnaround time
for a book is about six months of actual work (which doesn’t include taking
breaks to work on other projects or waiting for my editors and beta readers to
get back to me.)

Do you believe in
writer’s block?

Sometimes I don’t feel like writing, but sometimes I don’t
feel like doing anything. That’s just a natural part of being human. If I take
a day off to relax, sometimes a couple, I can get back to work once I feel
better. I’ve never not been able to come up with things to write.